Retired
by jaintn
Summary: Who knows when the end will come or what it will mean. PG-13 for violence.


Retired  
  
Through the haze of a long, chemical-induced stasis, the harsh metal bracings of the barracks floor undulated into and out of focus. He turned his head right and then left before taking a step forward. Seeing none of the other storage compartments in the barracks empty, he gleaned he was the first to be cracked out of deep freeze.  
  
The automated systems of the barracks were already prepping another soldier for duty, even as they finished mounting power and ammunition supplies into his combat suit. Soon after this process was finished, his helmet's displays came to life, showing various suit statistics and an overhead view of the surrounding terrain. Twin blast doors opened in the side of the barracks as he stepped forward, and a waiting lift lowered him to the ground below.  
  
Green grass grew thickly about the plateau the barracks had landed upon, slowing his pace as it wrapped about the battlesuit's boots. Several hundred meters away, near an upsurge of mineral crystals, the dome-shaped command center gleamed in the pale yellow sun of what seemed to be high summer. Utility vehicles, known as SCVs, raced on hover-jets between the command center and the mineral deposits, ferrying loads of mined crystal into the large central passageway for processing. By the edge of the plateau, another SCV was assembling the materials necessary to build a new structure.  
  
"Sergeant," came the voice over his communicator, "You are to proceed to the depot under construction and oversee it's completion. Engage any hostile units you might encounter."  
  
Assisted by the servo-motors of the battlesuit encasing his body, the sarge walked over to the developing structure and, as regulated by his suit, stood at attention, patiently waiting the completion of the depot. He registered awe at the beauty of the planet -- greenery in all directions. The SCV finished the depot beside him and then moved on to perform other duties. This depot, the sarge knew, was positioned to distract enemies momentarily should they happen upon the base. He felt as though he'd witnessed this procedure hundreds of times, though memory had become for him a blur which seemed to comprise his entire life.  
  
Another soldier came to stand beside him, a private. He saluted and inquired as to what was their duty. The sarge explained their orders, and they stood silently at attention, admiring a green world they knew they would not remember in another couple of hours, days, however the long the conflict lasted. Once that time came, assuming they survived, it would be back into the stasis that composed the majority of their marine service interrupted only by the brief and violent periods of operation.  
  
As it emerged from the forest, both men saw the jerky motions of a zealot, a warrior for a psionically linked, sentient, humanoid race, known as the Protoss. Its gold and purple suit of armor gleamed through the faint opacity of its shield, and its pale eyes glowed on its leathery but otherwise featureless visage.  
  
The creature approached in unbroken strides across the grassy field below Terran base, while both the marines waited, their weapons leveled, until it came into range. It seemed odd that it didn't stop, but zealots were known for their ferocity. The spikes from the two marines gauss rifles created ripples in the surface of the Protoss's shield, as they were repelled. Their guns were doing no physical damage to the creature, but from an unspecific memory the sergeant knew they were draining power from the creature's defenses.  
  
"Hold, your ground and keep bursting," the sergeant said to the private, who'd taken a step back, unsure about this new creature apparently.  
  
In controlled two second bursts (to prevent weapon overheating), the two marines kept blasting away at the zealot, even as it closed to within hand to hand range. Snarling, two blade-like energy bolts formed from the creature's armored forearms, as the zealot attacked. The private felt these blades as the zealot scythed them rhythmically into his chest plates, sending him to the ground.  
  
To the credit of his training, the private kept bursting into the zealot from point blank range, despite the wounds in his chest.  
  
The shield of the zealot finally failed after minutes of bombardment, and the spikes began to ricochet off of his armor and into it as well. Snarling again, the zealot smashed his blades into the private's helmet, shattering the face plate and what lay underneath. The private's rifle shifted focus, now firing to the heavens incessantly. As the zealot rose and turned to the sarge, the continual bursts of spikes finally pierced through its golden armor and into some vital part of the being itself. In a burst of white light the sarge knew he'd seen at sometime before, the creature vanished.  
  
Two more privates arrived too late to be of help in the fray, but assumed sentinel positions with the sarge. All stood at attention and waited.  
  
########  
  
"Report, adjutant," the commander said.  
  
"Three marines currently on-line, three in que for activation. Factory nearly complete. Academy complete and ready to assemble firebat and medic unit components. Engineering bay online. Two turrets currently under construction. Vespene and mineral production optimal. One casualty," replied the computerized female voice.  
  
"Der," came the voice of his second in command, "under these circumstances, it might be easier in terms of total energy expenditures to over power the opposition with marines. Our reconnaissance indicates that protection of the Protoss encampment is composed of two or three photon cannons at their base's entrance, another cannon in their mineral deposits, and a few various ground units of no significant number. Losses among the marines would be minimal considering the savings in time and supplies."  
  
Standing across from his second in command, Der eyed him momentarily before returning his gaze to the console rising from the floor between them. The screen of the console cast a bright light into the mostly dark room around, creating eerie shadows among the bulwark near them. At the perimeter of the circular room, attendants monitored various processes on their computer stations and discussed operations between themselves under dim red lights.  
  
After this moment of consideration, Der responded, "We've already taken the time to construct a factory. Let's put it to good use. Also, the additional firepower of the mech. units will give us a measure of safety should we run into any surprises once the operation's under way."  
  
Sec nodded and informed one of the attendants that tank production was to commence immediately at the factory. He then turned back to Der and asked, "What do you make of the zealot incursion?"  
  
"Nothing," Der replied, "I believe it was an isolated scout. We know the Protoss haven't been here long enough to have set up any serious operations yet."  
  
"Do you think it used its psionic abilities to relay information about us back to wherever it is that the Protoss deal with such things."  
  
"Sec, I don't know. We don't have much good information on the Protoss at this end. We just deal with stuff. I know you're fresh out of the academy, but out here, out in the middle of a few million light years of nothing, we can only go with what we have and hope that's enough."  
  
########  
  
Seven other marine privates now stood with the marine sergeant. Additionaly, four firebat units, marines whose battlesuits had been outfitted with additional armor and a flame-thrower in place of the standard gauss rifle, and two medic units had arrived to supplement the firepower of the marines. As no SCV had appeared to construct a bunker, they inferred that they would be seeing combat during this mission.  
  
The orders arrived almost as an after thought, "Sergeant, proceed with the other infantry units to the entrance of the Protoss base. Once there, provide containment and, if necessary, reconaissance."  
  
The group marched down the slope and onto the plain below the base. Following map directions provided by their helmet's displays, they entered moderately dense forest once they'd left the area immediately beneath the plateau the base was built upon. Their feet moved rhythmically, mechanically on the way to their destination.  
  
After several hours of marching through the forest, the unit emerged into a field which lay below the Protoss encampment. They took up a position which allowed them a good view of the embankment leading up to the photon cannons that guarded the base's entrance. Almost immediately, several zealots stepped into a defensive position at the top of the embankment. Separated by several hundred meters of lush grass, the two groups of warriors stood facing each other. The marines all stood at attention, as regulated by their battlesuits, and the zealots waited, idly shifting their weight from one foot to the other behind gleaming armor and transparent shielding.  
  
The minutes passed as the infantry group waited, stretching into a period of several hours. No one said a word, waiting for further orders or, perhaps, a sudden attack. During this seemingly eternal calm-before-the- storm, one of the firebats began jerking violently in his suit. The tremors started out mildly but quickly worsened into a rapid front to back folding of the torso. Flames then erupted from the flame-thrower mounted in the arm of his suit, scorching his boots and the ground surrounding them.  
  
In unison, each of the marines said, "Suit malfunction," and a medic, relying on the heat shielding of her battlesuit, made her way to the back of the spasming firebat.  
  
After a few fumbles, she managed to punch the correct sequence of buttons in the his suit's backpack, immediately causing the firebat to slump to the ground face-forward. Attaching a chord from her medical pack to his backpack, she began running diagnostics to determine the nature of the suit's malfunction. She then produced a component from her medical kit, and, after opening a compartment in the suit's back, replaced the new component with the old one. That done, she ran another diagnostic, and then punched a few more buttons on the the suit's backpack. Abruptly, the unit and its occupant sprang back to attention, rejoining its companions in waiting for the next phase of the Terran operation. The medic unit faded once again to the rear of the group, waiting to repair damage as she was able.  
  
############  
  
"Depleted uranium ammunition available. Siege tank capabilities enabled. Current troop count is twenty marines, three siege tanks, and four goliaths, being produced from one factories and two barracks," the computerized adjutant dutifully reported.  
  
"Order the mech. units to take up position with the marines. Once there, they are to begin initial bombardment of the Protoss base," the commander said, and one of the aides turned to relay the orders.  
  
Looking to one of the aides surrounding the command console, the commander said, "Order construction of a starport, "and looking once again at his second, "I want to really pour it on if we have to."  
  
Another of the aides from the outer ring yelled in, "Commander, our scanning has turned up a Protoss expansion base several miles to the south and west of the original. It should be appearing on your screen now."  
  
"Any idea of the number of units guarding it," the commander responded to the anonymous voice.  
  
"Three to five. Dragoons, I believe."  
  
"Sec, I'll let you oversee the removal of the Protoss expansion," the commander said, turning back to his colleague. "The marines already in the field are at your command."  
  
#############  
  
Stars and void painted the window in the wall of the conference room. A number of conical lamps hung from the ceiling providing enough lighting for the group of officers sitting around the conference table but still leaving large sections of the room in shadow. Around the angular metallic table the meeting wound down, each of the officers having presented information and coordinated with the others on developing long term sector strategies.  
  
A young, nervous looking officer finally having his turn to present says, "A strange issue has come up from personnel. It seems that one of our marines tour of duty is up. . ."  
  
"So have him volunteer for another. Isn't that standard procedure," an admiral at one of the table interjected.  
  
"Yes, sir, all marines are still facing mandatory renewal. However, this case is unusual in that his tour has already been renewed the maximum number of times and, I need to know whether we're just going to do it again."  
  
A sour, perplexed look on his face, the admiral responded, "So how many years are we talking here?"  
  
"Thirty, sir."  
  
"Damn."  
  
Everyone at the table eased back in their chair waiting for someone to respond, all with cynical expressions though for differing reasons.  
  
Finally the admiral responded, "You'll have to let me think on that one, son. I can't say for sure right now. I need to talk to some people on Earth. What's your name soldier?"  
  
########  
  
Four pairs of heavy treads crushed the undergrowth as they made their way onto the small plain below the Protoss base. On the flanks of these tank treads marched a pair of twelve foot tall walking vehicles, known as Goliaths. If these new units caused any tension in the Protoss or the marines, it was undetectable. Both groups stood their ground, as they had been for the several hours it had taken the new units to arrive in the field.  
  
After rolling slightly ahead of the other units the tanks stopped. A series of high pitched clanking sounds could be heard as several armor plates on the exterior of the tanks slid away to reveal curled metal feet, which then extended and planted themselves firmly in the ground, raising the rear of the tank several feet and firmly rooting it in the ground. While this was going on, the turret of the tank elevated upwards at its backward end, a long wide barrel emerging in the process. The twin barrels of the tank's traveling armament retracted into the turret's cavity.  
  
This done, the new weapons emitted an artillery shell in a concussion of white light, which, several moments later, exploded among the photon cannons and zealots. The intensity of the blast produced visible strain on the Protoss' shielding but dislocated no one from its position, the shields apparently serving as an inertial damper.  
  
At this time, the marines received new orders. They were to head to a location several miles away and engage an enemy force which had been discovered there.  
  
Glad to substitute the unknown danger several miles distant for the one present around them, the marines marched away from the field, metal boots clomping in unison. The unit soon fell into a passive state of mind during the march, those with combat experience knowing that danger rarely appeared between engagement points.  
  
The platoon arrived at a point just allowing them a view of the developing Protoss base. It was built in a grotto of the surrounding cliffs, a place in which some force of erosion had bared a vein of the sparkling mineral crystals from which so many alien races derived energy and war munitions. Several hundred meters closer to the marines, the blinding white brilliance of a dimensional rift revealed the location of a warping Protoss structure. Beside the rift a small robotic probe idled, and slightly in front of the rift a quartet of golden, four-legged, spider-like cyborgs known as dragoons stood guard. The only sign of life amongst the massive twelve foot high dragoons was the small three pronged scanner spinning beneath their ovular central pod.  
  
The marines stood at attention in loosely knit group with firebats in front of and the medics behind the marines. On their helmet's displays, they saw the approaching SCV. It hailed them, saying, "Command has ordered the addition of stim capabilities to your suits. Please standby, while I make the necessary modifications."  
  
Each of the marines posture slackened slightly, eyes widened, and breath momentarily caught in their throats at this news. Unspecific memory filling them this time with dread, as the SCV arrived and began installing the components.  
  
###########  
  
Through the ever heightening din of aides talking, an adjutant yelled in to the command officers, "Marines in position, stim enabled, and ready to engage. Your orders, sir?"  
  
As the second in command quickly rechecked the tactical display console rising from the floor between he and the commander, a different aide emerged from the shadows of the outer ring with a communication print out in hand.  
  
"For your perusal, sir," the aide said to the commander, handing him the document and then withdrawing to the shadows again.  
  
"Begin, your reconnoiter, Sec," the commander said, as he opened the communication.  
  
###########  
  
Only a few minutes after the SCV had departed, the marines' communicators relayed the orders: "Engage the dragoons and destroy the Protoss base."  
  
Immediately following these words, each of the marines heard the hiss each knew to be the engagement of the stim delivery system. Into their bodies coursed a bioengineered cocktail of chemicals which momentarily boosted their reflexes and disencumbered them of any lasting pangs of mortality. Each marine felt a vague sensation warmth as the chemicals began to amplify certain of their bodies processes. Through the communicator, several yells were heard, as the marines began an all out, weapons blazing dash for the dragoons.  
  
The dragoons returned fire, each emitting a sphere of particles at the marine directly to sarge's left. The marine was lifted several feet off of the ground, as all four of the spheres impacted his chest, sending chunks of his battlesuit flying in all directions. He landed prone and smoking and made no further movements.  
  
The marine's fired indiscriminately in their charge, their bullets making the dragoons' shields ripple like the surface of a pond during a storm.  
  
#############  
  
Looking down at the console, the second and the commander saw the little icon representing the marine disappear as its sensors stopped conveying information back to their instruments.  
  
"Sec," the commander said, "it appears our sergeant has completed his tour of duty. . ."  
  
At these simple words the second stared at his commender. It was the first time he'd ever heard of a tour ending. The realities of existence this far from Earth meant that nearly everyone was a lifer in one way or another.  
  
". . . recall all marines as soon as they can safely be withdrawn from their current operation. Have them return to barracks to be put back in stasis -- except, of course, the sergeant, have him brought to our command center for decommissioning."  
  
##########  
  
The second volley from the dragoons arced to four separate targets, blasting chunks of armor away and dropping one of the firebats to the ground. Medic units, following the charging marines and firebats, did their best to keep pace and repair as they were able.  
  
Under the constant fire of the marines, the shielding of the one of the dragoons failed, and the spikes from their weapons began plinking away at the metallic surface beneath. Before the dragoons could get off another volley, the withering fire from the marines eroded the armoring of the dragoon and penetrated to some vital spot, causing the central pod to rupture and spew forth thick blue fluid.  
  
In a haze of fury, the sarge sped towards the closest goon, he saw it emit a white particle sphere towards him. The sphere, deadly in its accuracy, as all protoss weapons seemed to be, impacted his left arm, knocking it away from his gun. The sarge kept running towards the 'goon, firing his weapon with only one arm. The strain of the marines fire on the shield of the goon was evident, but undeterred it fired on the sarge again. The blast hit his right leg. The 'goon became vertical in his vision as the sarge continued to fire upon it. Quite suddenly, the shields of the 'goon failed and its central pod split, gushing fluid as it collapsed to the ground.  
  
From behind the sarge, the trailing medic approached. She picked up his intact, though severed, right leg and placed it temporarily beside him. After removing several items from her medical kit, she began applying chemicals known as regenerants to both the nub and the severed extremity. Then, by firmly pressing the two entities together, she started the mending action of the chemicals, which promptly began binding and repairing the damaged tissue, effectively regenerating the lost limb. Upon completing this process, the medic pulled a small laser from her kit which she used to field patch the damaged battlesuit back together.  
  
From somewhere at the edge of stim induced rage and numbness, the sarge felt a bubbling sensation in his leg as the chemicals finished their work. The red iridescence of the medic's laser formed a bar on his sweaty face as she finished patching his suit's leg and started to work on his arm which had also been broken by the first blast.  
  
Within only a few minutes of the initial injury, the diagnostic device the medic had attached to the sarge's suit showed that everything, including the sarge himself, were functioning normally. As the sarge's suit raised him to a standing position and the medic returned his weapon to him, the blinding light of the warping protoss structure was snuffed out by the firing of his comrades, the last of the remaining Protoss units. Even through the auditory dampers of the battlesuit, the sarge could hear the silence as the weapons ceased their firing and the stim ebbed from their bodies.  
  
###########  
  
The troop of marines made its way back to base as ordered after wiping out the Protoss. They walked past the one supply depot which they had witnessed being built hours ago and towards the barracks of their origin. It seemed that most of the units which would normally be guarding the base had disappeared. The only manned units still operating were the ubiquitous SCVs, who were still mining and gathering gas.  
  
Other preparations being made around the base confirmed that a withdrawal to space was imminent. Several technicians could be seen going over various fittings on the command center and other buildings which would become space worthy. The marine's own barracks could be seen venting clouds of white vapor as its automated systems went through their preflight routines. Waiting at the barracks lift was a uniformed but unarmed soldier. As ordered, this soldier singled out the sarge, telling the other marines that they had orders to deactivate as usual.  
  
The unfamiliar building rose above the sarge hypnotically. The top level of the massive structure sported viewports in which people could be seen occasionally passing by. Below that top tier, the architecture seemed chaotic, a jumble of differing pieces that did not appear to belong together. Opening before the sarge was the giant maw of the building, a stream of SCV's went into and out of it with minerals and other materials for processing.  
  
Once inside the main passage of the command center's bottom level, the sarge could see large rooms to either side of the ten foot tall hallway containing ore dumps, gas cannisters, and some processed materials to be taken to the factory and starport. As the pair prepared to enter the elevator leading to the personnel levels of the building, the sage noted another large chamber with hundreds of lined up SCV units in some sort of similar biostasis to that of the marines in his former barracks.  
  
After being lifted to one of the upper levels of the command building, the pair made their way through the metallic halls of the upper levels towards the medical facility, the sarge's battlesuit banging against the ceiling in several places.  
  
Once there, the soldier who had remained silent throughout their trip informed the sergeant that, "at this facility we will perform the basic decommissioning procedure, which will remove the battlesuit and all of its exterior components. However, the implants will have to remain until a more sophisticated facility is available."  
  
Though it represented the unknown in its most absolute form, the concept of decommissioned hardly registered with the sarge.  
  
"I'll meet you here in a few hours, once everything's been taken care of to show you to your quarters. The process here is totally automated. All you need to do is step into the traction sphere over there, and the process is automated from there," the aide concluded.  
  
The sergeant made his way to the spherical structure that had been indicated and stepped up onto the boot plates and waited as the machine became active. It began by first removing the suit's built-in power and weapon components, attaching several lines of its own to replace their function temporarily. The sergeant felt a warmth spread through himself as an anesthetic took hold, and a small, tightly packed ball of memory began to expand, unpacking before his conscious mind a stream of suppressed emotion, dense and furious.  
  
The machine continued with the procedure by breaking down the suit at the joints of the arms and legs. A mechanical arm removed large plates of metal from the battlesuit as a laser device freed them from the sergeant's body, revealing damp, porcelain skin as they fell away. At several key areas of the joints metal protruded from the skin showing where an implant had been made to allow tighter integration of the suit and its occupant.  
  
After the armoring of the suit had been removed from the limbs, the machine removed the helmet next as there were no vital connections between the suit and the sergeant's brain.  
  
Finally, the machine began removing torso pieces of the battlesuit, which were the most closely integrated into the sergeant's body. First, the armor plates on the front were removed, except for a cylindrical piece over the heart, used to maintain its function in case of injury or stress. This being done, the sergeant's back pieces were disassembled, leaving a complex network of tubes and wires protruding from the skin which had been used to monitor processes and administer the chemicals required to control the sarge's biological processes at all times.  
  
After making some final modifications to the implants that would remain in the sergeant's body, anesthetic was withdrawn from the sergeant's body. A computerized voice said, "Procedure complete. Anesthetic withdrawn. Allow twenty minutes for recovery."  
  
The sergeant became dimly aware of his feet. He wiggled his toes and it felt like worms flopping. His skin felt cool and crinkly in the dry air of the operating room, and spasms of goose-flesh ran through his limbs. All the while, the flood of images continued coursing through his mind. They were fragmented and brief, and he could identify them only as events he'd experienced during his active duty, but he knew that in time they would become more coherent, along with the tumultuous emotions which accompanied them.  
  
As the effects of the anesthetic terminated, the sergeant raised his bare hand to his face, seeing its naked flesh for the first time in years. All this time, he kept thinking over and over in his mind, as the awareness continued to bloat in his mind.  
  
He found a folded uniform waiting for him on a table by the machine. In a pile lay the fragmented plates of armor and electronics which had once formed his battlesuit. Being careful not to snag any of the remaining metal protrusions, he fit the uniform about himself and walked to the entrance of the medical area, finding the aide there who then took him to a temporary berthing room for further rest and recovery.  
  
###############  
  
Several days passed before the sergeant felt ready to meet the center's commander on the bridge of the station. During this time the sergeant spoke with several higher ranking officers of the bridge crew, most notably the medical officer who was monitoring his recovery. The bustle of the command center as it prepared to jump back into colonized space confused the sergeant. In contrast to his experience in the military, the activity during a time of peace was alienating and only served to isolate him further from the people around him.  
  
On the third day after being decommissioned, the sergeant was ready to meet the commander. Half an hour in advance of the meeting, a clean shaven aide arrived and lead the sergeant away to the command center's bridge.  
  
The aide regaled him with idle chatter during their trip, telling him about the new reactors being used in Wraiths to extend their cloaking abilities. Occasionally the sergeant agreed with the aide to avoid the appearance of rudeness.  
  
Soon the pair emerged through an automated double door onto the bridge. They stood at the edge of the domed room, computer terminals and techies spreading out and around the perimeter. This external ring was mostly dark aside from some low ceiling lights and computer terminal glow. Within this ring and divided from it by a interlace of girders the central room was brightly lit in contrast. Two men, both in neat Directorate blue uniforms, stood at the flanks of a floor console in this area, hands behind their backs and smiles on their faces.  
  
Making their way across the outer ring, the sergeant and the aide passed through a gap in the bracing and into the inner ring.  
  
"Thank you, Aide Ad, that will be all," the man on the right said, and then addressing the sergeant, "Welcome to my bridge Sergeant Colecanth."  
  
"It's an honor to meet you," the commander said, extending his hand.  
  
The sergeant gripped it awkwardly as his muscles had deteriorated while being assisted by the battlesuit's servomotors.  
  
Continuing the commander said, "This is my second in command, Secton Magillies, whom I usually refer to as 'Sec.' My name is Derwood Umbergar, commander of this station. And you, as no else knows, are Sergeant First Class, Robert S. Colecanth of the 6088th mobile space marine division, barracks no. 910-C, cited for valor 188 times, injured in the line of duty eighteen times, decorated on the counts of valor, duty, and meritorious service repeatedly, and, now. . . retired, or soon to be so."  
  
The bridge crew which had quietly gathered around the perimeter of the inner ring clapped after the introduction. The clapping and cheering, even the commander's speech, did not fully register on Robert's conscious. Part of him welcomed the praise, but also that tightly wound ball of emotion stirred in its turbid hibernation, sending out ripples of dissonance through Robert's mind.  
  
After this introduction, the bridge crew, taking a short break from their duties, entered the inner circle and introduced themselves and began talking in small clusters.  
  
Taking the sergeant aside, Secton asked, "I'd like to go over your most recent operation sometime when you're feeling up to it. I was responsible for planning it, and I'd love to coordinate with you to get a marine's perspective for future use in my plans."  
  
Again the tight ball quivered in the dark recesses of Robert's brain. He grunted assent, and then the conversation moved on to other topics.  
  
Several hours later, Robert was escorted back to his quarters after the reception was over. As he rolled on the unflinching sleeping berth in his quarters, already made restless by the forgotten process of going to sleep, the computerized voice announced to the ship, "Light's out, crew one. Second shift man your stations."  
  
###################  
  
Standard disclaimer: Starcraft is a property of Blizzard, Inc. 


End file.
